


The Blackwing Index

by hubcaphalo



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubcaphalo/pseuds/hubcaphalo
Summary: When vital documents are stolen from Blackwing, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency jump into action to get them before they can fall into the wrong...wronger hands.





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

 

Amanda Brotzman wanted to scream. Amanda Brotzman screamed. Five pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction as the hallucinations and searing pain of a pararibulitis attack set in.

The van soaring down the deserted backwoods highway had swerved and braked too suddenly as a deer had darted into the road, sending Amanda’s head bumping into the door frame, her soda spilling across her lap. That soda, her nerves told her, was really acid, and now ate away at her clothes and burned into her flesh. Martin could taste her pain in the air, and quickly pulled over.

“Drummer?” the raspy voice from the driver’s seat broke through the haze of pain. Amanda nodded, answering the question that went unsaid, and suddenly four of the van’s five other occupants huddled around her. They breathed in, deeply. A glow of blue light, then a series of images flashed before her eyes as the Rowdy 3 consumed the pain from her body. What felt simultaneously like hours and seconds passed, and then everything went black.

When Amanda came to, she was stretched out in the back of the van, sunlight and a light breeze filtering in through one of the back doors, cracked open just a few inches. She could hear the others beyond, talking and laughing. Cross was cawing at the crows fussing nearby, and Vogel was excitedly passing on messages for him to interpret into Crow-ese. Beast’s gravelly sing-song voice carried as she pointed out everything she saw, still excited by the new world she inhabited. Gripps and Martin sounded closest, talking in low, serious voices near the van door.

She lay still, closing her eyes against the brightness of the day, letting the sounds of her Rowdy family wash over her. Opening her eyes after what she thought was mere moments, Amanda was startled at the fallen darkness. Rubbing the grogginess of the impromptu nap from her eyes, she sat up and crawled out of the van. The others were spread out around a campfire, lounging, dancing, drinking, laughing, shrieking along with the music crackling from the old boombox between Cross’s feet.

“Boss! You’re alive!” Vogel, the first to catch sight of her as he spun like a top around the fire, whirled toward her, arms flailing until they settled around Amanda. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t restrain a crooked smile.

“Dude, I’m fine,” she assured him, briefly pressing her forehead to his. Extricating herself, she joined the group around the fire, catching a can of beer fired her way by Gripps, while Vogel resumed his unintentional impression of the Tasmanian Devil. Amanda threw herself onto the bench seat so heavily, the whole thing tipped dangerously backwards, Martin’s feet flying in the air for a brief moment before he leaned forward and set the seat right.

“Hell, Drummer, little warnin’ next time!” He still clutched his beer in one hand, not a drop spilled, and the other clutched his chest, fingers digging into the grey denim vest.

“Sorry,” she muttered, sullenly. Martin was used to Amanda’s general air of sulk upon waking, but this felt...more.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

Amanda screwed up her face in a look of studied concentration. Martin knew that look. She was trying to piece together the scattershot images of the visions she’d had when the boys fed off her pararibulitis attack. He gestured at Beast, and she loped over, depositing a grease-stained paper bag in his lap. Martin took the bag, stretched an arm across the bench seat, and set it at Amanda’s side. Without taking her eyes from the fire, she picked up the bag and curled around it protectively, sighing at the smell of the tacos within.

She knew Martin was watching her every twitch. Moreover, she also knew that everyone else was trying very hard not to watch her. They knew Amanda’s visions were usually vague at best, and that she needed time to piece together what she could. But knowing there was a new puzzle to solve, maybe a new mission to undertake, or a new danger to face left the Rowdy 3--all 6 of them--feeling antsy and excited.

Rustling into the bag, Amanda unwrapped a taco and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. Intensely.

“It’s bad.” At her tone, Martin sat up straighter, alert. Amanda took bite after bite, more aggressively each time, brow furrowing. “It’s really bad.”

When her eyes finally snapped up from the fire, the Rowdies had abandoned all pretense of not watching her, waiting for her. They all leaned in, eyes alight with anticipation.

“We have to go see my brother.”


	2. Chapter One

####  **Chapter One**

 

* * *

 

 

Todd Brotzman wanted to scream. A choked gurgle escaped his clenched jaw as he stood clutching a mug in front of the coffee maker. The machine was faintly smoking and emitting sparks; a hatchet was buried deep in its heart. Todd turned, looking for the culprit, and saw a flash of red duck around a corner. _Of course,_ he thought.

Truth be told, Todd very much enjoyed working with Dirk. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wanted to pull the massive sign for _Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency_ off the wall and flatten his friend with it. Whenever they were between cases, Dirk got antsy, and things around the office got a little out of control. Todd had learned to deal with out of control in the confines of a case. Running for your life when an evil cult was chasing you- _fine_. But walking into the office in the morning and finding all of the furniture painted yellow, Dirk interrogating the mail carriers so often they left letters for the Agency at the office next door, panicking when Dirk would disappear for days only to reappear and act as though nothing had happened, finding all the paperclips glued together...and now this.

 “DIRK!” Todd shouted.  No response. He marched across the room and through the door to Dirk’s office, where he only ever went to hide. Dirk was in his chair, still spinning from having flung himself in it seconds earlier.

 “Todd! How can I help you?” Dirk grasped the desk to stop the spinning, and sat up, adjusting his red leather jacket in a dignified manner. “Is there a call for me? A case?” Todd’s eyes narrowed.

 “Why. Is there. An _axe_. In the coffee maker?” he ground out.

 “Ah. Yes. Well. Good. No, I’m glad...I’m glad you brought that up, ah…” A strangled cry came from across the office.

 “My hatchet!” The sound of something breaking apart was followed by stomping footsteps, and Farah Black appeared in the doorway, holding the hatchet, looking ready to put it to use.

 “Dirk,” she started, voice shaking with the effort of trying to be calm. “In the future, if the universe is telling you to destroy one of our appliances, please use your own belongings to do so.” Her nostrils flared as she stared him down.

 “Ah, yes, terribly sorry, it’s just, I haven’t _got_ any weapons, and you’ve got such an _extensive_ and well-curated armory, I thought ‘where could I find just the right piece of equipment to do the job, something high quality and sturdy and well cared-for’ and I thought ‘well, _Farah_ , of course,’ and I would have asked, only you were out, and it was a matter of some urgency, and I thought of all people _you_ would understand the need for acting with some alacrity when one’s safety _and_ the safety of others is at stake, and...”

Farah and Todd exchanged glances, and walked out, leaving Dirk rambling.

 “Is your axe okay?” Todd asked gently. Farah took exceptional pride in keeping her arms in immaculate condition. In fact, she found cleaning her firearms wonderfully soothing. And working with Dirk, she needed soothing. A lot.

 “Needs a little sharpening, but the blade wasn’t nicked. I wouldn’t have let him off so easily if he’d actually done any damage.” Farah turned the hatchet this way and that in the light, inspecting it all over again. “Well,” she smirked, “any damage to _this_ , that is.”

 “Let’s just be thankful he didn’t grab a gun.” Todd paused. “You _do_ keep those locked up, right?” The withering look Farah gave him was nonetheless reassuring.

 “Under key and combination, thank you. Although I suppose if the universe wants him to get in there, he’ll just like, guess the combination and find the key.”

 “I’m prepared to consider a lot of out-there things that the universe might want, but I’m _one hundred percent sure_ it’s never going to want that.” Laughing, Todd sat behind the front desk and Farah perched on the corner, arms crossed. “Hey, where’d you go this morning, anyway? He’d never have murdered the coffee maker if you were here.”

 “I was meeting with a source with information on a possible holistic. Something to send Amanda’s way.” The way Farah frowned made Todd’s stomach lurch.

 “Are they…?” It wouldn’t be the first time they’d been too late tracking down one of the tools of the universe, a person with unusual abilities, like Dirk. When your team is comprised of a small detective agency and a pack of leather-clad hooligans roaming the country in a dilapidated van, and your enemy is a government entity with deep pockets and shallow morals, you often found yourself playing catch-up.

 “No! I mean I don’t...they _could_ be. The lead just hit a dead end. Maybe Blackwing got them...or _got_ them. Maybe they went off grid. Or maybe the source was wrong, and it wasn’t a holistic at all.” Farah sighed heavily. “I just wish there was a better way to find these people, to reach out and let them know, y’know, we’re the good guys, and we’re here, and we can help. Chasing down rumors and whispers, dead end after dead end. Augh, it makes me feel so useless!” Farah launched off the desk and started pacing.

 “What we need,” Todd posited, wiggling a pencil in the air, “is some like, _covert_ way to communicate with them. We need like, a...like a hacker! Who could set up something on...on the deep web!” Farah stopped pacing and stared at Todd, raising an eyebrow.

 “Do you know any hackers?”

 “No, but, I mean, they’re out there! There’s gotta be like a...like a Craigslist for hackers?” Farah tried to hide a smile, with middling results. “You’re right, that’s dumb. I got nothin’.”

 “It’s not dumb,” Farah softened. “A little out of our reach right now, maybe. But you’re not wrong, it would be super useful. Imagine if we could hack into Blackwing’s files. At least even the playing field, know what they know. Track their...” she halted mid-thought, looking as though she’d been struck.

 Without a word, Farah grabbed her jacket off the coat stand and vanished through the front door. Todd sat stunned for a few minutes before shaking his head. He looked sadly at his empty mug, then the smoldering coffee machine before resignedly picking up the completely intact tea kettle and walking to the sink.

 

*

The next morning, Todd and Dirk sat hunched over a diner table, speaking in low voices.

 “Are you quite certain she hasn’t called? You have...let’s say, a checkered past, when it comes to actually checking your phone.”

 “I’m positive. No missed calls, no texts, nothing.” Todd lit up his phone and turned the screen toward Dirk.

 “Well, Farah is the single most capable human being either of us have ever met. If she can take on an evil wizard from another dimension, I’m sure she can handle whatever Seattle may throw in her direction.” Dirk sat up and smoothed his tie. Todd still looked worried, but he, too, sat up as the waitress deposited their orders in front of them, along with a to-go order, boxed and bagged.

 “Thanks. Hey, Dirk, did you look through those files I gave you yesterday? With the possible…” Todd glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper. “...possible holistics?”

 The door to the diner swung open wide and Farah strode in, making a beeline for her friends. She slid in the booth next to Dirk and pulled her phone from her pocket. She looked sick.

 “Farah! Jesus, where have you been? You left without saying a thing, don’t text, and now...now you’re doing the thing.” He gestured at her hand, tapping rapidly on the tabletop, her go-to sign of agitation. “Shit.” He looked closer at her hand. “Is that blood? Is it yours? Are you okay?”

 “Shhh! No, it’s not mine.” Farah scrubbed at her knuckles with the edge of her shirt. “I went to see Jason.”

 “Your tech guy?” Todd had never met the mysterious Jason, a longstanding contact of Farah’s, but had always pictured him as an unkempt, shadowy figure surrounded by empty energy drink cans and autopsied electronics.

 “When we were talking yesterday, and you mentioned how useful it would be to have a hacker, it got me thinking. We may not have someone who can hack into classified government systems, but Jason could easily make us some bugs and trackers that we could slip into Blackwing’s possession. That’s the kind of thing he could do in his sleep.”

 “Yeah! Farah that’s a great idea!” Todd beamed, but Dirk’s face grew cloudy, sensing the direction this was about to take. “Wait, did you...did you punch him?”

 “Todd,” Farah stared at her knuckles. “Jason’s dead.”

 “What? But...how?”

 “I went to see him last night, and he told me he’d have something ready in no time. He doesn’t sleep when he’s working on a project, so I went back early this morning, before dawn. He was dead in his chair, gunshot to the head.” Farah’s face hardened. “They took a bunch of his stuff, destroyed everything else. Except the camera.”

 Todd glanced at Dirk, whose eyes were staring blankly at the rapidly cooling eggs in front of him. He could see the weight already pushing down on his friend’s shoulders. He pulled his eyes back to Farah, and laid a hand on her thumping fingers.

 “He had a security camera hidden up in the ceiling panel.” She turned over her phone and swiped at the screen, bringing up a video.  The mysterious Jason, at long last. Todd had the right image of the computer carnage, but in every other respect, this seemed like the least mysterious guy in the world. His hair was neat, his trendy patterned button-up had nary a wrinkle in sight, there was a large bottle of water on a side table--away from the electronics--and a small bag of almonds within reach. The brightly lit room seemed like any office in the world. Until the door behind its occupant opened, and a person dressed head to toe in black entered, gun raised. They wore a black helmet with a black veil obscuring their face; Todd felt a chill run through his body. The figure in black crossed the small room in three quick steps, the gun flashed, and they had set to smashing electronics before Jason’s head hit the desk.

 “That’s one of Priest’s men,” confirmed Dirk, shakily. Dirk was never a ray of sunshine concerning the topic of Blackwing, but the only time Todd ever saw him so completely consumed with fear was when the lethal loose canon known as Mr. Priest was involved.

 Farah sighed, closing the video, and sat silent, a blankness in the eyes that echoed Dirk’s expression. “I don’t know how they found out about him, and that he was helping us--I only went to him about this _last night_ , Jesus! I shouldn’t have involved him. We can’t bring anyone else into this. It’s not safe. I won’t let this happen to anyone else.” Dirk nodded emphatically. They both looked up when Todd stood and placed his hands on the table, eyes wide.

 “ _We_ won’t let this happen to anyone else. Let’s get back to the agency. We’ve got work to do.”

 

*

Todd juggled the beverage tray with one hand and cradled a bag of danish in the other. Dirk and Farah had gone ahead to the office, while Todd stopped for coffee and pastries. It was easier to put your nose to the grindstone if you had caffeine and sugar pushing you along.

“Hey, neighbor!” A head poked out of the office next door followed by a short frame drowning in too-long trousers and an oversized cardigan. Marshall managed the office for a professional Christmas decorator. Todd, previously unaware that was a real profession, wasn’t sure what there could possibly be to manage the rest of the year, but the office had 4 employees, and they were there Monday through Friday, all year long. Marshall waved a stack of mail cheerily at Todd as he moseyed towards him.

“Oh, is that our mail?” Todd asked, feigning innocence. He wasn’t sure how much Marshall knew about why their mail carriers always seemed to ‘accidentally’ leave the agency’s mail in his office, and he certainly wasn’t going to tip his hand.

“You betcha! Say, is everything okay? Dirk walked right past our door this morning without so much as an ‘Ahoy’. And Ms. Black looked mighty intent on something.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine, it’s just...a case, you know. Can’t really talk about it.” Todd trailed off, hoping to curtail the conversation.

“Say no more!” Marshall help up his hands in surrender. He wedged the letters between the cups in the drink carrier, and clapped Todd on the shoulder. “You kids’ll figure it out. You’re smart cookies. Strange ducks, maybe, but smart cookies.” He winked, and returned to his office.

Shaking his head, Todd entered the agency, and set his cargo down on his desk as the door swung shut. Picking up the mail, he walked around the desk and sat. As he leafed through the letters, the front door opened. Still sorting the mail into ‘keep’ and ‘junk’ piles, he put on his best Customer Service voice and went into greeting autopilot.

“Welcome to Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, cases sol….” looking up, Todd didn’t so much trail off as screech to a halt, feeling like he’d swallowed his tongue.

Detective Estevez stood in front of him, looking simultaneously trepidatious and extremely annoyed.

“I need your help.” He gestured at the massive agency sign. “All of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I absolutely did use [the tumblr post I made 7 months ago](http://hubcaphalo.tumblr.com/post/169094968750/dirk-gentlys-holistic-detective-agency-3x01) for that last paragraph!


	3. Chapter Two

####  **Chapter Two**

* * *

 

“Mr. Brotzman? Mr. Brotzman.” Estevez snapped his fingers in front of Todd's face, which was frozen, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in shock, color quickly draining from his cheeks. No response but a faint croak from Todd. Estevez sighed, hands on hips, and snapped his gum impatiently. “ _Brotzman_!” he shouted, and clapped his hands in front of Todd’s face.  

“You….you’re dead.” Todd stammered, the sharp sound of the detective’s hands bringing him back to his senses. Sort of. “You...we heard...Blackwing…”

“Oh my _god_ , a _ghost_ !!” An excited squeal carried across the room as Dirk came into view. “Excellent! I’ve never _done_ a case with a ghost before! Well, no offense, Detective, but this is not at _all_ what I expected from a ghost, looks-wise. You look _very_ solid, and not at all haunted or weighed down with regret.” Todd thought Estevez was, in fact, starting to show some signs of regret. “Farah! We have a new client! The ghost of Detective Estevez has come to us for aid!”

Dirk moved towards the newcomer as if to hug him, then faltered and stuck his hand out as if to shake, but ended up awkwardly adjusting the man’s tie.

“Dirk, did Todd bring you coffee instead of tea? You’re not making-” Farah seemed to lose her voice as she rounded the corner and took in the sight before her. She gaped, as Todd had done, for a moment, before shaking the shock from her head. “Detective! To say this is a surprise would be an understatement.” She paused, mouth opening and closing again with several false starts, before finally finding her words. “I honestly don’t know what to say except...how...how are you alive?” Estevez gestured to the couch and chairs, and they moved across the office to sit together.

“You’re not wrong to be surprised. It was touch and go for a long while. Countless surgeries, countless weeks in the hospital under a pseudonym, with heavy security in case someone found out I’d survived and tried to finish the job.”

“Detective,” Farah began, but Estevez interrupted.

“It’s Agent now, Ms. Black.” He removed a black leather bi-fold from his inner jacket pocket and opened it, passing it to Farah.  

“FBI? When did this happen?”

“After that Blackwing idiot shot me, he left me for dead, not even cleaning up his own mess properly,” Estevez shook his head disapprovingly.

“Typical Hugo,” Dirk nodded, knowingly. “Bit of a flake, really.”

“Are...are you, like...disappointed in him? For not finishing you off properly? Seriously?” Todd stared at the detective-no, agent, he reminded himself-with bewilderment.

“It was just sloppy! I can’t respect someone who half-asses a job like that!” He extended a hand out, palm up, to Farah, imploring her to see the sense in his assessment. She half-shrugged and nodded in understanding. “Thank you!”

Todd shook his head. Dirk, who picked up and dropped tasks like a hot potato, nodded firmly in agreement, then, at Todd’s raised eyebrows, looked deeply interested in a spot on the ceiling.

“Anyway, they left, and the FBI arrived shortly after. That part’s real fuzzy, a lot of gaps, but they got me to the hospital, and when I pulled through, they debriefed me, and then they recruited me. Wheedle and that other Bureau jerkoff were working on the drug ring case involving your landlord,” he nodded to Todd. “But there was a whole other team of agents tracking Blackwing’s activity in town.”

“They were watching Blackwing?” Todd interrupted. “What for?” He looked at Farah as she huffed and folded her arms.

“Well, there _is_ a long history of tension between the CIA and FBI. And frankly, if any government agency has done something to deserve the scrutiny of the FBI, it’s Blackwing. There’s gotta be a laundry list of human rights violations. I mean, Priest alone must have enough infractions to fill a book. Black ops or not, there are still _rules_.” She pronounced the last word so firmly, her voice cracked a little. Estevez ran his palms over the knees of his jeans and took a deep breath. Dirk just looked pale (or, moreso than normal), and now seemed to be preoccupied by an invisible spot on his cuff.

“There are things you need to know about Blackwing,” Estevez began. “First, and probably most important: Blackwing is not a government agency.”

His statement seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Farah looked mildly relieved. Todd felt the room tilt. Dirk had pulled his eyes from his sleeve and was staring intensely at Estevez, expression unreadable.

“I'm sorry, what?” Todd croaked. “I mean…I mean…. _what_? No, but, they're CIA! Riggins was like, a military guy. They have like, agents and facilities and...things.” His mind was spinning.

Estevez sighed, and rubbed his temples. “Blackwing has gone through many phases in its existence. When it originally began, under a different name, it _was_ part of the CIA. A branch dedicated to studying the unusual, possibly the supernatural, and the potential for using their findings in intelligence work. Now, when the most recent predecessor to Blackwing had its funding pulled, and was shut down, the leaders, well-placed individuals in the intelligence community, left with massive chips on their shoulders. They were bitter that their years of work had never been taken seriously by the government.”

“Believing that there are people out there with special powers is a hard pill to swallow, even when you see it right in front of your own eyes.” Farah shook her head to herself, then smiled at Dirk.

“Well, exactly,” continued Estevez. “No one believed the branch was worth the money, despite what was, in the eyes of the leadership, clear proof of...powers, gifts, supernatural abilities, whatever you want to call it, they felt they had solid evidence to show for it. The CIA disagreed, so they got the axe.”

Todd, held his head, elbows on his knees. “If they’re all like the Blackwing people we’ve dealt with, that’s a dangerous group of people to piss off.”

“Definitely a bunch of people the government should have kept a close watch on, afterwards, instead of letting them quietly retire and vanish. They went rogue, and started work on forming their own agency. If the CIA didn’t want the research, then they would find themselves on the wrong end of whatever weapons Blackwing would come up with.”

“Weapons. You mean us.” Dirk gestured at himself and the Tiffany lamp behind his chair.

Estevez tilted his head, and looked back and forth between Dirk and the lamp. “Y….yeah. People like you. Human beings that Blackwing wanted to torture and brainwash into being their own little super squad.”

Farah was frowning. “How did they do it, though? How did they amass all those resources? A secret, underground facility, scientists, a small army, military grade weaponry...that’s more than the combined salaries of a few retired officers, no matter how high ranking.”

“A combination of personal wealth, gained mostly through bribes in exchange for info and influence, investment of outside parties, and blackmailing the wealthy and powerful. To the people they bring in to study, they pass themselves off as CIA. Someone’s gonna be a lot more likely to go with you, or to hand over their kid, if they think it’s a government program. There’s a measure of confidence and trust, there, however misplaced. They send out someone like Riggins, in his flashy dress uniform, with his shiny medals, and people feel like they’re serving their country to go with him. People feel like they’re gonna be heroes.”

“Yes, telling people they’ll be electrocuting you until you do whatever it is they’re trying to make you do doesn’t really inspire feelings of duty and teamwork and honor.” Dirk spat hotly.

Estevez turned to say something sympathetic, having gained a horrifying understanding from the FBI of what Dirk had been through, but leapt out of his seat and stumbled back over it at the sight of a pale, dark-haired girl sitting on the arm of Dirk’s chair, with a comforting arm around him. “Je-e-esus _Christ_! Who the hell are you?”

Farah held her hand out toward Estevez in a placating gesture as he rested his hand on the gun in his holster. “Det-Agent Estevez, it’s okay. This,” she gestured with her other hand, “is Mona Wilder. She’s like Dirk--well, not like-like. Mona was a Blackwing subject. She’s one of us.”

“But, but where did she..she wasn’t…” The wheels turning in his head seemed to click, and he craned to look behind her, where the Tiffany lamp had been, moments ago. He looked back at her. “That’s, uh. That’s a new one on me.” He laughed shakily and dropped his hand from the still holstered gun.

Mona smiled shyly. “Helloooo Agent Estevez. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m glad the bad men didn’t kill you.”

“That’s...thank you, Miss Wilder.” He exhaled and sat down, shaking his head. “You've got a real talent, there.”

“Agent Estevez, I don’t mean to be rude,” said Dirk, impatiently. “This history lesson is all very compelling, but what does it have to do with us? Why did you come to us for help?” The thought of going up against Blackwing again put everyone ill at ease, but no one moreso than Dirk. He and Mona had barely escaped with their lives, and you couldn’t _always_ count on an interdimensional portal to show up when you needed one.

“Blackwing has extensive files. All past and previous subjects, everyone from the legit CIA project days til now, everyone they still have, everyone that escaped...as well as a lot of leads on potential subjects. A _lot_.”

“We don’t know any hackers, if that’s what you want, us to get the files for you.” Todd quickly interjected.

Estevez laughed softly. “The FBI actually has their own people for that, Mister Brotzman. They’re very good.”

“Oh, well...sure. I...I guess that makes sense.” Todd, face reddening, seemed to sink into the cushions, trying as hard as someone who wasn’t a shapeshifter could to try to become part of the couch.

“The thing is, someone’s already done it. Someone stole the Blackwing files and wiped their entire database.” If the news about Blackwing had sucked all the air out of the room, this inflated it until it exploded with a bang. Everyone was on their feet with a shout, except for Mona, who was on her foot, singular, having turned back into a lamp.

“WHAT the HELL? Who took it?? Why???”

“How could this happen? With their security? Have they been contacted with demands?”

“PACK A BAG, Todd, we’ve got to go! We can’t stay here, Farah put Mona in the car, I think there’s some bubble wrap we can-”

“HOLD ON!” Estevez projected over the din. When they fell silent and stared at him, he smoothed his tie and cleared his throat. “I know it seems bad, and I understand your reaction. We have no reason to suspect any of you are in _immediate_ danger.”

“Not immediate danger, but…” prompted Farah.

Estevez gestured for them to sit once more, and Farah and Todd tentatively lowered themselves to their seats. Dirk flopped into his chair with a great sigh. “From the information we’ve gathered, the party responsible isn’t looking to use the information themselves.”

“They’re looking for a payday,” Farah supplied. She was leaning forward, eyes alight, focused exclusively on the agent.

Estevez nodded. “Exactly right, Ms. Black. They’re looking to sell to the highest bidder. Now, when someone buys it, then we can start panicking. But it hasn’t sold yet. And that’s where you come in.”

“You know who has it?” Farah asked, intensely.

“We’ve narrowed it down.”

“You want us to steal it.”

“That’s the idea.”

“We’re in.”

“Now hold on, just a moment, please. I think we need to confer, as an agency. I’m sure you understand, Agent Estevez.”

Estevez nodded and sat back. Dirk continued to stare at him. “Oh! You want me to-” he gestured over his shoulder. Dirk nodded. “Seriously? Okay. I’ll just go make some coffee.”

“Try the tea,” Dirk suggested as Estevez walked away. He turned to his friends. “Now listen, I think we should take the case.” His statement was greeted with simultaneous responses.

“I agree,” said Farah.

“You’re nuts,” argued Todd. “Wait, Farah, c’mon. This is some spy shit! You might be qualified, but Dirk and I are way out of our league with this.”

“Todd, Agent Estevez is well aware of our individual backgrounds. I’m sure he wouldn’t be asking if it was something out of our reach. And I’m sure we’ll have all kinds of backup.”

“Yes, that’s what I was about to say, precisely. Backup. I think we should call in your sister and the Rowdy 3.”

“I’m not going to put Amanda in danger.” Todd sat back and crossed his arms.

“Todd, she’s spent months on the road tracking down holistics in direct competition with Blackwing. She’d be in _less_ danger here with us and a team of FBI agents.” Dirk wore a borderline smug look on his face; the same one he always wore when he knew he’d won, and that Todd would cave.

Sure enough, Todd pulled his phone out of his pocket with a sigh, and dialed Amanda’s number.

“Hey, Todd, what’s up?”

“Oh...not much. Or, kind of a lot, I guess. Hey, listen, we’ve had a pretty major case come our way, and I think we could use your help. You and the Rowdy 3. All of you.”

Dirk suddenly sat up straight, listening intently to something no one else could hear.

“It’s kind of hard to explain, and kind of...top secret, I guess, so I probably shouldn’t talk about it over the phone. Would you come and help?”

“Dude, of course. We’re on our way.”

“Thanks, sis. Any idea when you’ll get here?”

Estevez walked back to the group with a steaming mug of tea in hand as the deep, grumbling churn of an engine came into earshot. Four heads swiveled toward the window as it grew louder, and the thumping techno could be heard bleeding from the stereo. There was a crash just below the window, and the noise cut off.

“Soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a massive shout out to the tv series Alias, whose fictional agency SD-6 masquerading as the CIA inspired the ~truth~ about Blackwing here, and just served as a great general source of inspiration for spyjinks to come


	4. Chapter Three

####  **Chapter Three**

* * *

 

When the Rowdy 3 were entering Washington state, Amanda started to feel anxious. Her visions had been, as ever, piecemeal and hard to decipher. But what she knew for certain was that they needed to get back to Seattle right away, and that her brother and his friends were involved. The Rowdies didn’t even need as much as that. If Amanda said go, they go. 

As the scenery outside the van window faded from brown to green, she took in a deep breath.

“You okay, there, Drummer?” came the grunt from the driver’s seat. Amanda stared at Martin and tried to find the words for her reply.

“I don’t...I don’t know exactly what we’re going into, here, Martin. But it feels big. Like, everything we’re doing, it could all change after this.”

Martin took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal. ‘f it don’t go our way, we’ll figure it out. We got more fight in us than a nest’a wet hornets, ain’t that right?” The cheers from the back of the van cracked a smile on Amanda’s face.

By the time Amanda’s phone lit up with Todd’s call, the van party was in full force. Music blasted through the immaculate speakers, but Amanda shushed the raucous yells from the back of the vehicle as she answered. 

“Hey, Todd, what’s up?”

 

*

The office of Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency suddenly seemed very small indeed. 10 adults in an already cozy space seemed infinitely tighter when the Rowdy 3, who naturally seemed larger than life, were part of the crowd. Having not seen the agency HQ before, they had immediately set to investigating every inch of the space, although keeping their more destructive tendencies at bay, under Amanda’s strict orders. She rallied them to sit still as Todd introduced them to Agent Estevez, and they were brought up to speed. Estevez seemed surprisingly at ease with the presence of the Rowdies, only looking slightly askance at Beast as she loped across the room to Dirk’s side. Farah, who hadn’t spent time with them in Wendimoor as Todd and Dirk had, was less at ease, and inched away when Cross produced a handful of licorice vines from somewhere inside his jacket and offered them to the room. 

Once the group was all on the same page, Estevez took his leave, giving Farah and Amanda instructions on how to check in at the local FBI offices the next day, where they could fully go over the mission details.

Dirk patted Gripps’s knee and stood, dislodging Beast from having rested her chin on his shoulder. “Well! I think we've all had  _ quite _ a day, and should enjoy a nice,  _ peaceful _ evening, as I'm certain tomorrow will begin a very demanding case, indeed.” He beamed at his compatriots, eyebrows raised hopefully.

Amanda and Todd looked at each other before grinning widely. “Hell no!” Amanda crowed, and was answered by the Rowdies’ responding howls.

 

*

Todd had gamely agreed to ride in the van with the Rowdy 3, while Dirk rode in Farah’s Jeep, and Amanda watched him attempt to ignore Martin’s driving. His eyes roamed over the van interior, pausing on the chains hanging from the roof. She tried not to laugh at the expressions that crossed his face in rapid succession. 

“This is….um…” Todd searched desperately for words, not wanting to damage the still-mending relationship with his sister. “Y’know...nice, I guess. Cool.”

Amanda smirked and shook her head. “Like Mexican Funeral’s van wasn’t a taped-together piece of shit! How many times did you guys have to get out and push that thing?”

“Okay, true, but like....” Todd turned and ran his hand over the slashes in the red fabric on the van walls. “What even happened here? What goes on in here??”

“Sometimes you gotta rage, man!!” Vogel interjected, helpfully, waving his arms to demonstrate, spraying beer everywhere. Todd let out a cry of protest as the booze splashed across him, but then he found himself laughing. Beside himself laughing, his eyes welling. As he touched his forehead, deep in a memory, Amanda caught on and caught the giggles.

“Ohhhh my god, dude. Block Party?” Todd nodded in response, clutching a stitch in his side, still laughing. Cross and Gripps looked at each other and shrugged. Martin’s eyes watched through the rearview mirror as the Brotzmans cackled, tears brimming in their eyes.

“Todd’s band played this local festival,” Amanda explained to the befuddled faces around them. “And this like, superbro was down front and super  _ NOT  _ into their set. He soaked Todd with his beer, then chucked the empty can at him. Hit him right in the forehead. Then he chucked a  _ full  _ can at Vic, all like “fuck your feelings! Let’s fuckin rage, man!” Split his head open, gushing blood  _ everywhere _ . They kept playing, finished their set. Then Vic handed his guitar to Kidder, got down off the stage, walked right over to this asshole and puked all over him. Totally had a concussion, had to go to the hospital, but it shut that guy the fuck up.” Unless she was imagining it, the guys were looking at Todd with a fresh gleam of respect in their eyes.

When the van pulled up onto the sidewalk, Todd clutched the seat beneath him. “I don’t...think we’re allowed to park here.” he mumbled anxiously. 

The others either didn’t hear him, or ignored him as they threw the doors open and piled out. Vogel had already vaulted atop the van and started chucking down blankets and camp chairs. Gripps hoisted a cooler onto one shoulder, slapping away Cross’s hand as he tried to open the lid. Loaded down with gear, the group marched up the street, past the massive white arches of the science center (“Not the plan, Vogel,” warned Martin, the young Rowdy excitedly gawking at the colorful posters for something called  _ BubbleFest _ ), and came to a stop at the top of a stretch of lawn, at the front of which stretched a massive screen. The Mural Amphitheatre sat in the shadow of the Space Needle, which was starting to turn golden in the light of the setting sun.

The Brotzmans headed automatically to a large tree near the front, and laid a blanket on the ground below it. It had been years since they had come to a movie night, but when they were younger, they had spent many a hot summer day playing in the nearby fountain, and clear Saturday nights watching movies on the Mural screen. Todd and Amanda would sit, nestled together in the curve of the tree, faces usually covered in ice cream, fighting to stay awake til the end.

Now Amanda sat in their spot, Beast curled against her side, Rowdies splayed out around her. Todd was trying to negotiate a corner of the blanket when he spotted Dirk and Farah. He waved to get their attention, and smiled as they picked their way towards him. 

“I’ve always wanted to come to one of these,” Farah said, surveying their surroundings. She smiled and handed Todd a camp chair. Dirk dramatically heaved the small cooler with drinks to the ground and opened his mouth to speak when a can of beer sailed through the air and hit him squarely in the chest. He flailed in a failed attempt to keep it from hitting the ground, then straightened and brushed off his jacket. 

“No thank you,” he demurred, and used his foot to nudge the can back towards the Rowdies, who were hooting in laughter.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have beer here,” Farah frowned. She was answered with raspberries, jeers, and a can thrown her way, which she plucked out of the air with ease, turning the jeers into cheers and applause. She tried to hide a smile, throwing the can back at Cross, and settling into her own chair with a bottle of water. “You didn’t mention what movie is playing.”

“Oh, it’s Clue!” Todd’s face lit up excitedly. He gestured between himself and Amanda. “One of our favorites when we were kids.”

“Clue, as in the board game? The murder mystery?” Farah asked.

“I love mysteries!” shouted Cross.

“ _ Oh _ , you mean  _ Cluedo _ ! Why didn’t you say so? I love this one!” Dirk clapped in delight.

“You’ve... actually seen a movie?”

Dirk rolled his eyes. “ _ Yes _ , Todd, I wasn’t  _ always  _ held captive by a secret not-really-government agency!”

The group bantered and laughed and threw snacks at each other until the sun had set and the screen in front of them flickered to life, showing a dark sky with rain-filled clouds, and an old-fashioned car driving down a long, twisting road, insistent string music blasting from the speakers on the stage. 

Amanda thought she had never seen the Rowdies give anything such rapt attention. They hooted and hollered at the slapstick action, and watched the mystery with bated breath. When the first ending finished, and the second ending began, they went berserk. 

“WHAT??”

”What do they  _ mean  _ that’s what  _ COULD  _ have happened?”

“Oh my god this is AMAZING.”

Amanda shared a look with Todd, both shaking with repressed laughter. When the screen finally went dark and the stage lights came on, they had to pull the punks up and swear that there were no more surprise endings. Vogel spent the walk back to the van elatedly recounting everything that had happened, Gripps occasionally interjecting with a “That was crazy bananas” or an “I can’t believe it!”

Farah looked at Cross out of the corner of her eye. He was quiet, but grinning widely. “You knew. You figured out the final ending.”

He looked at her and shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. 

“It just made sense.”

“Oh, our boy Cross here  _ loves  _ mysteries. Always got one on him.” Amanda lashed her arm out and gave one of Cross’s back pockets a whack, resulting in the unmistakable  _ thud  _ of a paperback book.

Farah smiled warmly. “Well, then I’m extra glad you’re here. Maybe you can help solve our real-life mystery.”

Todd invited his sister to stay the night in what little space his apartment had to offer, but she declined, with the caveat that she would absolutely be using his shower in the morning. She hopped in the van with Beast and the boys, and Todd climbed into the Jeep. The rumbling van lurched off the sidewalk and rolled into the night to go...wherever it is the Rowdy 3 went. 

“You know...they’re strange, but...really kind of okay, I think.” Farah climbed into the driver’s seat, looking a little taken aback by her own opinion. Dirk sleepily agreed, and they pulled into the street, headed back to the Agency.

The building was dark and quiet when they arrived, all the other businesses having long since closed. Their steps echoed in the hallway until suddenly Farah came to a halt and threw out her arms to stop Dirk and Todd from passing.

“Farah, what on earth-” Dirk’s exclamation was quickly shushed, and Farah was reaching for her shoulder holster. With her other hand, she pointed at the Agency door.  Todd squinted through the darkness. The door appeared to be slightly ajar.

“Maybe we didn’t close it all the way?” Todd questioned, hopefully. “Or...or maybe Mona…?” His heart was thrumming in his chest as he envisioned the black-clad gunman who’d shot poor Jason, suddenly thankful Amanda had not taken him up on his offer of accommodation. Although he wouldn’t have minded having the big guys with them now.

Farah stalked silently forward until she could push the door open with her foot and peek inside. Signalling them to stay in the hallway, she crept inside.  Moments later, the light flicked on, and Farah returned to the door, waving them in. “All clear.”

If Todd hadn’t known their whereabouts all evening, he would have been certain that the Rowdy 3 had had their way with the place. The remains of the coffee machine no longer seemed out of place, now amongst the debris of scattered paper and broken...well,  _ everything _ .

Dirk gasped and gaped for a moment before convulsing as if he’d been shocked. He grabbed Todd’s arms. “Mona! Oh my god, Mona! Are you here?!? It’s us! It’s okay now!” He carefully picked his way across the debris-strewn floor, picking up item after item, scrutinizing them and questioning them. “Mona? Mona? Is this you? Are you okay?”

After half an hour of watching Dirk interrogate inanimate objects, Todd sighed. “Dirk,” he began, then stopped as Dirk looked up at him from the floor, clutching a wastepaper basket.

“She’s gone, Todd. They took Mona.”

 


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

* * *

 

 

Farah gripped her tablet so hard, Todd thought it would snap clean in half. He tried to ease it out of her hands, but it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s just...nothing. _Nothing_ , Todd. The security cameras were working perfectly yesterday. I checked everything after...after Jason.” Her voice was barely suppressing her anger. Her eyes were not suppressing it at all.

Todd let go of the tablet, giving up. “So they shut it off. Or erased it.” He toed the torn pages of magazines scattered around him.

“There should still be a record of a file having been deleted, or the system shutting down.” Farah clenched her jaw, then drew a steadying breath. “Dirk, I’m so sorry.”

Dirk sat clutching an undrunk cup of tea that was undoubtedly cold by now. “They’ve got her, haven’t they? Blackwing.” His voice was hollow.

“I don’t think so,” Farah mumbled, shaking her head.

Todd looked at her in surprise. “You don’t think it was Blackwing? Who else even knows about her? About us?”

Farah strode over to the front door. “Look at this,” she said as she pointed at the frame. Todd joined her, followed her finger with his eyes, then looked back at her, brows raised in a question she only answered by pointing more vehemently. Todd shrugged and shook his head. Farah sighed. “LOOK! The frame and the door are splintered! Blackwing comes and goes like a shadow. I’m guessing whoever did this forced the door with a crowbar. Simple, messy.”

“Still,” Todd reasoned, “Whoever did this knows enough to be dangerous. I think we should stay together tonight, and get to Estevez first thing in the morning. This has to be connected to the case.”

Farah nodded sharply. “We’ll stay at my place. Grab anything from here that might have sensitive information, files, anything we don’t want falling into the wrong hands.”

Dirk looked up at them for the first time since sitting dejectedly on the sofa. “You think they might come back?”

“I don’t think so. I think they got what they came for. But we can’t be certain, and I’d rather take the extra precaution.” The assertiveness in Farah’s voice was having a bracing effect on Dirk. He allowed Todd to prise the tea from his hands and smoothed his jacket.

“Right, well. Let’s not linger, then. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

*

As they were buzzed into the parking garage of the FBI offices downtown, Farah nodded solemnly at the officers who had just checked their car, and wondered how the Rowdy 3 were going to fare. Maybe she ought to text Amanda. Or ask Estevez to prepare the agents at the gate. Or she could go back and tell them herself, try to explain the Rowdies... _oh_.

“They’re already here!” Todd caught sight of the battered van at the same time. Parked diagonally at the end of a row, easily taking up 5 spots, the doors of the vehicle were open, and the passengers were draped languidly about, as though they had been waiting some time. Cross and Vogel appeared to be playing dominoes, until Todd got close enough to see that the abutting tiles didn’t match. He was a moment away from asking what rules they were playing by when Cross skimmed a domino across the lot like a stone, scattering them as he shouted “Hootenanny!” and flung handfuls at his friends, sending Vogel into peals of laughter. He looked at Amanda, who shrugged.

“Time’s up, boys!” she called, rising from her seat on the bumper. “Put away your games, we got shit to do!”

Martin, who had been sitting against the van at Amanda’s feet, stubbed out his cigarette and clapped his hands. “All right, boys and girls, let’s go play with the suits!” At Farah’s look of hesitation, he added “Nicely. Play nicely.” He didn’t sound convincing.

They exited the parking garage into the lobby of the building, and Amanda could already sense the tension from the Rowdies escalating at the sight of all the agents. She slipped one arm around Vogel, and grabbed one of Gripps’s hands with her own. She felt Cross and Martin close at their backs, hovering protectively. Beast, who had no experience with government agencies--or people pretending to be government agencies--hunting you down and torturing you, seemed happy to stick with Dirk, beaming reassuringly up at him. He actually seemed to take heart from her presence, and motioned for Farah to take the lead.

They must have been a sight to behold, Farah striding smoothly across the room to the reception desk, trailed first by Todd, then Dirk and Beast, and finally by the knot of punks who seemed glued together, like a leather-clad Transformer. Farah smiled at the man behind the desk.

“Hello. My name is Farah Black. We’re here to meet with Agent Estevez. We’re his consultants, from Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency.” She passed a business card and her ID over the counter. A quick clacking of computer keys, a nod, and nine guest passes were handed over.

“Wait, how did you…?” Todd looked at his pass, which bore his name and photo. “You know what? Nevermind. I don’t want to know.” He shook his head as he clipped the badge to his shirt.

Once they passed through the metal detector (an incident unto itself, in which the Rowdy 3 unabashedly had to strip down farther than the others would like to remember), they were led to an open conference room and instructed to wait, Agent Estevez would be with them shortly. On the other side of the windows into the hallway, agents passed back and forth, which, in and of itself was unremarkable, until Todd thought he noticed the same man pass twice. Then another one. Okay, that lady _definitely_ already walked by.

“I feel like I’m in a zoo.” Todd shifted in his seat and tried to ignore the agents who were steadily losing their stealth in gawking at the strange group in their midst.

When two agents made a show of needing to confer over a file right outside the window, ridiculously holding the file folder up just below their eyes like a cartoon, Farah huffed and stood. “Oh, come on!”

There was a clipped shout in the corridor, and the onlookers scattered. The door opened, and a harassed looking Agent Estevez hustled in. He began pulling the blinds on the windows, grumbling to himself.  Shades drawn, he turned to the room.

“Agent Estevez, what’s going on?” Farah asked.

Estevez set down a stack of folders at the head of the table. “Just some office gossip, starting rumors about people with _superpowers_ coming in for a case. They’re all out there trying to catch a glimpse of Thor or some stupid shit.”

“Well, actually- ow!” Dirk rubbed his shin and made a face at Todd, who shook his head minutely at Dirk. Estevez wasn’t paying attention, rolling a whiteboard across the room to stand in front of the table where everyone could see.

“Actually, Agent Estevez, we wanted to report a break-in, and a kidnapping.” Todd tried not to thrum his fingers nervously on the tabletop.

“Miss Wilder,” Estevez nodded. “We’re already aware of it, Mr Brotzman. And I’m sorry that happened. I’m sure you’re worried about your friend, and we’re going to do everything we can to find her.”

Todd’s brow furrowed. “You already know? But...but we didn’t even report it to the police.”

“You’ve been watching us?” At Estevez’s nod of confirmation, Farah fell with a plop into her chair.

Dirk frowned. “But then...why didn’t you stop it?”

“I had a team watching the office from a car across the street. Nothing major, just a basic precaution. They didn’t stop it because they didn’t realize what had happened. A man was seen entering the building with a duffel bag, and he left with the bag...and a Tiffany lamp. They didn’t know that lamp was Mona Wilder. At worst, they thought it was a petty theft.” He flipped open the top folder and picked up a photo. “They took this shot of the culprit.”

He turned and stuck the picture to the board. When he moved, the room took in a collective breath. There in front of their building, dressed in a sharply tailored suit, was Hugo Friedkin.

*

After the initial outburst of shock and dismay, Estevez managed to settle the room. He then pulled out several more photos from the same folder, and stuck them on the board. In each one, Friedkin stood, as though watching, waiting for something.

“When we met yesterday, I told you that we’d narrowed down the possible location of the Blackwing files. We’ve been surveilling each one.” He pointed at the photos. “These were taken outside the homes of the suspects.”

“How is he even _alive_ ? Last time we saw him, he was rather... _hole-y_ ? I’d have thought Blackwing would have finished him off.” Suddenly remembering to whom he was speaking, Dirk backtracked. “Sorry, detective-- _sorry_ , agent! Not that they _should_ have of course, I’m all for the less kill-y courses of action. It’s just a bit their modus operandi, isn’t it? Did he escape? Or is he still with them?”

“Unclear. But I’m not showing you these to derail our mission. This is not about Mr. Friedkin. This is about retrieving the files, and keeping all you…” He was searching for a word that didn’t start with ‘super’

“Holistics,” Dirk supplied.

“Sure. We want to keep all you holistics safe and free. But it’s important to know who we’re up against. We don’t know who Mr. Friedkin is working for, but...” He posted another photo on the board. It was a still from Jason’s security tape, showing the man in black at his door. “We know Blackwing at least has Mr. Priest and his men on this.” More photos added to the board. Mugshots, surveillance pictures, press clippings. “There’s a lot of folks out there showing interest in the files. Some of them want to actually buy. Some will be looking to steal them. We’ve got corrupt politicians, fringe scientists, crime lords...whatever this guy is,” he pointed at a picture of a man dressed as a clown, his makeup running down his face in streaks. “This is going to be dangerous. I want to be very clear about that. If anyone doesn’t want to take that risk, I understand.”

Martin leaned his chair back and kicked his feet up in the table. “Blah blah danger, violence, blah. Stop threatenin’ us with a good time and point us at somethin’ we can hit!”

At the howls of the Rowdy 3, Amanda swore she saw Estevez struggling to hide a smile.

“All right, all right, let’s...before we get there, we have to eliminate some of our suspects.” Off Vogel’s enthusiastic fist-pump, Estevez clarified “Eliminate them _as suspects_. We have to figure out who has the files.” Vogel slumped back in his seat, disappointment clearly written all over his face.

Farah leaned forward in her seat. “You said you’d narrowed it down. Who are we looking at?”

Estevez flipped open the next folder in his stack, flipped the board over and stuck a photo to the fresh slate. A man with dark hair and a smirk that made Amanda gag stared back at them. “Constantine Caras. Well to-do family, Harvard graduate, has a fondness for lavish parties and blackmail. Getting a payday and screwing with what he thinks is a government agency would pretty much be his idea of the best day ever.”

The next photo caused a flutter of chuckles around the room. The image showed a small woman easily in her 70s, her steel grey hair in a simple, sleek bob.

“Come on,” Todd laughed. “She should be on the Food Network, like...baking a cake and talking about her grandkids.”

“Eileen O’Connor is the matriarch of a crime family that covers both sides of the Atlantic,” Estevez informed him, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Todd. “They run businesses both legitimate and not, and they’re smart as hell. They have their hands in a lot of pies, including politics, namely, buying and selling influence, and they have ties to some of the original rogue agents that formed Blackwing post-CIA.”

“Oh. Yeah, that seems...cogent.” Todd slid down in his seat like a chastened student.

“Demi Adoti,” Estevez announced as he added another photo to the board. A fresh-scrubbed face beamed with the glow and confidence of youth. “This young man, despite his age, is an extremely experienced hacker, and has been a thorn in the side of, frankly, most of the world’s governments.”

“And finally, Victor Weiss.” The final photo showed a handsome older man with silver hair and silver earrings and an elder-punk-statesman air about him. “Cut his teeth as a protestor in the 60s, joined the FBI in the late 70s. Served 30 years, fought with every director tooth and nail the entire time.”

“So, a disgruntled former agent? Hmm, where have we heard about those before?” Farah noted, wryly.

“You know, everything _is_ connected. My money’s on that guy.” Todd pointed out. He looked to Dirk for affirmation, only to see him focused on disentangling a stretched-out piece of bright green gum from his fingers. Todd sighed.

“The goal is to determine who has the files. We’re going to split up and, with a pair of agents as backup, each take on one of our suspects. You guys do...whatever it is you do, while the agents pursue the more traditional surveillance methods.” Estevez passed the suspect’s folders around the table. “You are _not_ to physically engage _unless_ in self defense.” A stern look was directed at the Rowdies.

Gripps huffed and scowled. “Lamest. Stakeout. Ever.”


	6. Chapter Five

####  **Chapter Five**

* * *

 

 

“Boss, lemme use those, I can’t see!” Vogel made a grab for the binoculars in Amanda’s hands. She let them go with a raised finger sternly pointed between his eyes.

“No smashing, or Estevez will wring your neck.” He made a show of delicately bringing the glass to his eyes, pinky fingers extended. Amanda laughed and settled back in the passenger seat, pulling her leather jacket tightly around her to ward off the cold. Martin took a drag off his cigarette and passed it over, gently blowing the smoke through the slightly cracked window. Amanda inhaled deeply and held her breath a moment. “Gripps was not wrong,” she breathed, smoke pouring from her lips. “This is super lame. I wish the others were here.”

“Won’t be long, Drummer. That kid they got ‘em watchin’ ain’t the villain type.” Martin cracked open a beer and reclined the seat, resting a knee on the steering wheel. When they’d dropped off Cross, Gripps, and Beast outside the Adoti residence, Cross had said more or less the same. Whether it was gut feeling or holistic powers telling them that, Amanda couldn’t say. Wasn’t even sure the boys themselves knew. But she believed them. By contrast, when the van pulled up outside the opulent Caras estate, Martin let out a bone-deep growl usually reserved for the presence of Blackwing personnel.

“You think this is our guy?”

Martin shrugged. “Dunno. But he ain’t a good guy, regardless.” They lapsed into silence, watching the quiet property, waiting for signs of life.

*

Todd shrunk down in the car seat as far as he could go, and prayed for sudden holistic invisibility. His eyes peered over the dashboard as he watched Dirk.

When Estevez had split them into teams and given them their assignments, he’d handed out the accompanying folders for each suspect. Dirk promptly returned his. Estevez frowned and tried to push it back. “You should read this. You need to know who you’re dealing with.”

“Not really how I work, Agent. In fact, to be honest, the less I know the better. I probably already know too much!” Dirk shot a suddenly concerned look at the board covered in photographs, and quickly turned away from it.

Todd snorted, and took the O’Connor file from Estevez. He’d read it in the car, the better to distract himself from Dirk’s driving, and even the truncated criminal biography caused a panic to grip Todd’s heart at the prospect of surveilling this woman. He had been wrong, wrong, wrong to laugh in the briefing room. If they were caught sitting on the house by her security team...well, he just had to hope the agents paired with them were at the top of their game.

Todd could just barely see the other car from his position, but couldn’t make out any movement. He hoped they were ready to pounce if things went sideways. He wished _he’d_ been ready to pounce when Dirk leaped out of the car at the sight of Eileen O’Connor in her front garden. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Dirk was animatedly chattering, and Mrs. O’Connor was beaming and chuckling. Todd’s eyes couldn’t stop flicking nervously to the gleaming gardening shears in her gloved hand. He looked back at Dirk, who seemed to be miming a bird...no, a clock? A blacksmith?

He sighed and rested his forehead on the dashboard. He looked up when the driver’s side door opened, and Dirk called merrily over the top of the car “Don’t forget to water those hydrangeas!” He plopped into the driver’s seat, a burlap bundle held tightly in his arms.

“Dirk!” Todd hissed, still crouching on the floor. “What the hell, man??”

“Todd, we're going into  a dry spell! If she's not diligent about the hydrangeas, they'll die!”

“Estevez told us not to engage! He was _very_ specific about that! She’s _dangerous_!”

“What, Eileen? Oh, Todd, she’s lovely! I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s _absolutely_ a criminal mastermind. But she’s _incredibly_ charming! Anyway, she’s not the one behind this, so there’s really no point in staying here all day and night. And I need to get these in some dirt!” He opened the bundle enough so that Todd could see its contents: an assortment of plant cuttings. “I told her our office is _so_ drab, and her garden was so _beautiful_ \--I mean, the biodiversity is so well thought out, and the colors! _Anyway_ , she gave me these bits, and told me to put them in pots, and we’ll have full plants in no time! Real plants!” Dirk started the engine and did a double take at Todd, as if just realizing he was on the floor. “Todd, get off the floor. We’re leaving. Todd, why are you shaking your head?”

*

Victor Weiss seemed to be leading a quiet retirement. In the hours he’d been watched, he mowed the lawn, taken out the garbage, and painted a bookshelf in the driveway. Now he was suited up for a run, and sat stretching on the front porch.

Farah and Estevez sat in relative silence. Farah had binoculars pressed to her eyes, and periodically reported Weiss’s movements, Estevez taking down notes.

Weiss was standing now, shaking his right leg, then his left, checking his watch, and putting in earbuds. As he took off down the road, the car containing two FBI agents pulled slowly from their parking spot on the side of the road and followed at a distance.

“You really think these players are all on the table?” Farah handed the eyes to Estevez, and took the notepad. He took in her shrewd look and squinted down the road at the disappearing tail lights.

“Officially, yes. Between you and me, Caras and Weiss are the real threats. That’s why we’re here, and the most sensible of the violent punks are taking the other heavy. I know they can look after themselves, and can _probably_ resist starting any trouble.”

Farah sat back and leaned her head against the window, before bolting upright again. Estevez’s hand was already on his holster. A movement in the shadows behind Weiss’s house had caught both their eyes despite the dim light of dusk. With his free hand, he grabbed the radio from the dash. “Carlson, you still got eyes on Weiss?”

After a crackle, Agent Carlson’s voice responded. “Affirmative. Headed west on 80th. Good pace for an old guy.” She sounded bored.

Estevez turned to Farah, looked down at her gun, then tipped his head toward the house, eyebrows raised. She nodded, and they exited the vehicle, weapons in hand. They crossed the street swiftly, making for the shadow of the fence line, and quietly moved toward the house. Farah could see a small beam of light bouncing around as the shadow surveyed the front room.

Estevez gestured to the back of the house, and they crept around to find the back door. Farah covered Estevez as he gently tested the doorknob, and opened it silently. They slipped inside, and closed the door behind them. Down the hall they moved, clearing one room, then the next. They finally heard movement as they approached the front of the house. Peering around a corner, Estevez could see a dark shape kneeling on the floor over an open bag. He raised his gun at the figure.

“Drop it, real slow. Put your hands in the air.” He circled around as the figure did as it was told. Farah stayed in position, gun still drawn.

“Detective,” the man on the floor spoke around the flashlight that was still in his mouth. “Nice to see you again.” Through the dark, Farah could discern that it was Hugo Friedkin on his knees in a black suit and black gloves. His face split into a wide grin, and faster than Estevez or Farah could react--unnaturally fast, Farah would remark later, he took the flashlight and whipped it at Estevez’s gun, knocking it away from him just long enough to get on his feet and push past Farah, frozen in shock from his face. His _eyes_ . They were..no, they couldn’t be. That’s not...that’s not how eyes are. It was just a trick of the light. The light and the stress. The light, the stress, and supernatural forces. _No_! She shook the thought from her head and sprinted after Estevez, already hot on Friedkin’s heels. Out the back door, they saw the edge of his coat disappear around the corner, headed to the driveway, and they ran full-tilt after him. Along the side of the house--where did he go?-he was going this way-I don’t see him!-there’s nowhere else he could have gone!-along the fence line-front yard is clear!-he must have a car!--they ran out to the sidewalk--BAM!

Estevez slammed bodily into another person, and Farah slammed into Estevez, and all three toppled to the ground. Victor Weiss was holding his head and moaning.

“What the fuck, man?” Weiss looked at the two on the ground, sizing them up, then looked at the direction they’d come. “What reason could a couple feds have to be running around my property while I’m being tailed on my nightly run?”

Farah looked at Estevez as he sighed and opened his mouth to explain. Then the bomb went off.

*

“Finally, some action!” Vogel crowed as headlights bounced past them and pulled into the driveway at the Caras home. A second car pulled in behind the first, the high polish gleaming under the streetlights. You would think a large van covered in spraypaint and duct tape would be a terrible, conspicuous place from which to conduct surveillance. Especially in an upscale neighborhood like this. Amanda couldn’t believe no one had called the cops. But once things passed a certain point of decrepitude, people’s eyes tended to slide right over them, from the Range Rover to the Mercedes.

Martin grabbed the binoculars, ignoring Vogel’s vocal protest and subsequent sulk. From the first car emerged a tall, lanky man in a louche patterned suit: Caras. From the second, a petite figure dressed in all black, head covered with the dramatic hood on their jacket. For the second time that day, Martin felt his hackles up, a growl rumbling from his chest. A light hand on his arm made him glance up. Amanda was giving him a steadying look. He inhaled, exhaled, nodded and looked back at the house.

The two had moved inside, and the unknown figure removed their coat. A sharp-featured woman with bright red hair, she set a briefcase on the kitchen counter, gave Constantine Caras a smile that made Martin’s blood run cold, and pulled him down into a vicious kiss. Martin chucked the binoculars into the back of the van and hopped out the door.

Amanda turned to Vogel. “Okay, super important job, Vogel.” He puffed up proudly. “Stay here.” He deflated. “Keep an eye on us, and if there’s any trouble, take the van….and drive over the fucking front lawn and come get us.”

Amanda ran after Martin and hissed at his back “What are you doing??”

“He’s the one. Gotta find out the plan.” They’d reached the house, and Martin stuck out an arm to keep Amanda back out of sight. They peeked around the edge of the window and watched, waited for the room to clear.

“Ugh, gross, PDA much?” Amanda gagged.

Martin looked over his shoulder at her, with an amused smile. “This is his house, Drummer. We’re the peepin’ Toms.”

“Okay, still. He’s so gross! Totally cheesy. That suit, man, it hurts my eyes!”

“Hang on. There they go, upstairs. Now!” They made for the kitchen door. Locked. Martin reared his arm back to break the glass, but Amanda grabbed him mid-swing.

“Okay, they will DEFinitely hear that, even over the loudness of his suit.” She pointed at a high window over the sink. “That one’s cracked. Gimme a boost, I’ll go in.”

Martin paused and gave her a long look over the top of his glasses before giving in and letting her lead him to the bushes beneath the window. She placed a hand on his shoulder and a foot on his planted leg. He held her steady as she pushed open the window and slid inside. Amanda rolled off the counter without a sound and made her way to the briefcase. Unlocked, it popped open at a flick of the clasp.

“Tsk. Careless.” she murmured. She pulled out her phone and started taking pictures. There were a _lot_ of papers inside. Lists, names, prices, diagrams...what the hell were they planning? Amanda froze. She heard the creak of a door above her. She tried to keep taking photos while listening, trying to ignore the pounding of blood in her ears.

“Hey, babe, bring me up some of that squid from the fridge.” Constantine’s voice called out.

“Absolutely not. I’m not kissing you after you’ve eaten squid.” The woman’s voice was getting closer. She was coming down the stairs. Amanda shot a look at the window, then at the doorway through which someone would shortly enter, then back a the papers. Just a few more. There was a hiss from the window, and Martin’s hand was impatiently waving at her to come back. She shut the briefcase as quietly as she could and crossed the kitchen in three large strides. Up onto the counter, she eased one leg through the window.

“What the fuck?!” A voice rang out sharply. Amanda paused, pulse racing. She looked back into the house. The redhead was in front of the kitchen door, back to Amanda, looking down. “Constantine! The end of this bannister is splintered! I snagged my shirt!”

“Yeah, it broke a few days ago when they were bringing the sound system in. I’ve got guys coming to fix it tomorrow.”

“You’d better. We can’t have this place looking like a wreck when everyone’s here. Ugh, this was my favorite shirt.” She glowered and turned, walking into the empty kitchen and grabbing a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge before returning upstairs.

Outside, Amanda was plastered to the side of the house, Martin hovering protectively over her as they waited for the all clear. She was shaking, but when Martin looked down, she had a grin so wide he thought her face might split. He smirked and shook his head before grabbing her hand and running back to the van.

“That was SO COOL. Damn, I felt like a real spy! Bite me, James Bond!”

Martin fired up the engine.

“Wait, where are we going?” Vogel popped up between the front seats. “Are we done? Did we solve it?”

Martin glowered, staring straight ahead. “Yeah, we solved it. That woman in the house. Wilson. She’s from Blackwing.”

*

“Oh my god, what happened to you guys? Are you okay??” Amanda leaped out of her seat at the briefing room table and wove her way to the door. She made it halfway there before she couldn’t contain herself and dissolved into laughter. “I’m sorry, dudes. No, seriously, what happened?”

Cross, Gripps, and Beast stood at the door to the conference room, dripping in blue paint.

“Hesa baaaad man. Made uh chasim, then ploshun, PKEEWWWW! Blu us up.” Beast waved her arms emphatically as she explained.

“He knew we were sittin’ on him.” Cross clarified, digging paint out of his ear. “Started throwin’ shit at us. Water balloons. So we started chasing him.”

“Knew exactly what we were gonna do, drew us into the trees.” Gripps was trying to wring paint from his beanie, leaving splatters all over the carpet. “Had some kinda boobytrap! Musta tripped a wire, it was like a bomb went off, only instead kaBOOM, it was kaBLUE.”

“My sympathies,” remarked Estevez dryly. A medic was finishing taping up the cut on his head.

“So Caras is working with Wilson. She must be looking to get one last payday and get out.” Farah looked thoughtful. “I guess being a fake-government official probably has a short shelf-life. Take what you can and disappear before someone takes you out. I just wish I knew how Friedkin fit in. Why did he try to take out Weiss?”

"Agent Santos is debriefing Weiss. They go way back. If there's something connecting him to this, we'll find out."

An agent knocked on the door frame. “Joel, we got it.” He waved a file folder towards Estevez, trying to avoid the paint-soaked Rowdies. Nine heads swivelled towards Estevez.

“ _Joel_?” Todd questioned.

Estevez looked nonplussed. “Did you think my first name was _Agent_?” He took the folder and stood like a statue as he skimmed the contents. He then addressed the agent. “Can we verify this?”

“We’re already on it, but it’s looking good.”

“Okay, people!” Estevez turned to the room as the other agent hustled away down the hall. “Thanks to Miss Brotzman’s fine phone work, we know what Caras and Wilson are planning.” He held the file aloft. “The papers in the briefcase are detailed event planning for a party. An auction full of high rollers where a number of exclusive black market items, including the Blackwing Index, will be sold off to the highest bidder. This is a massive event, full of dangerous people, tight security, and high stakes.”

The room was remarkably silent as he walked from person to person, looking them in the eyes. The only sound came when a blob of paint dripped down Cross’s back, eliciting a ticklish giggle. Estevez returned to the front of the room and took down the photos of Weiss, O’Connor, and Adoti. He flipped open the new folder, and tacked Wilson’s photo up alongside Caras.

“Let’s get started.”

 


End file.
